and I am supposed
to feel sorry for him
“once upon a time a little girl cried, do you know how good it feels inside not having to worry about things, even though she knew she had heard it somewhere but finally someone said, be realistic as humans will always find things to worry about.
she sits now, uttering through tears, I am doomed.”” —lrah.
While you speak of rotten bellies thinking it is what I am crying about and if only you knew how wrong you are.
What is rotten is women like me with regrets of not fully educating myself, I have but at times two choices.
I realized this while having to beg for a ride to work and a pack of cigarettes and already I was hungry. I sat there with water falling tears, wiping them as quick as I could, so that I would not have to explain and what would I say, it is my birthday and I have but four dollars in my pocket and this is my choice of important need..
Too smoke not caring if my belly hurt me all night for the next two days.
I sit here again weeping while admitting this, I could call my Da and yes tell him I wanna go home, I can call Matarr and say I am ready to feel my young womanly body underneath his old wrinkled ass and do my duties as he please, without asking for nothing in return but I would rather go insane before feeling the world has defeated me.
I am a giving person and when I need something, I offer even more but no More, will I allow any human too nigger me down.
I am starting to think better in saying, a woman feels good when she does not have too worry so much and for now I better spell out, I, am high maintenance.
many things be spake of this’s and that’s
and what I do….I have the one in death
that meld of rotten
a feed of all the hollow you can get
Happy Birthday,Mybeast, you get Me closer to god
I have yet, too dream it is the last day of my life.
Today is my birthday and so many times I have seen that cliff with sleep shocked eyes, I have been pushed where the pound is so deeply embedded, where you feel that emptied wheeze grabbing your breath and yet, I could never understand my manage to squirm or too hang on, even though I say, well, obviously, as I am still here.
Yet, I sit here with my face being salted, I am thinking, not really thinking, but asking out loud, what am I going to do with my life and praying nonchalantly for some type of detour but not really praying, just adding more words.
Maybe my mind can further towards my truest need, a soothing lullabye, Lord knows I would welcome it but there is my trade of telling Jesus, I am beginning too feel like dog meat too these men and not just one but All.
And, I, really, have no idea as to how I might latch back at my runaway heart.
I’m just rambling rambling myLove, it’s my birthday and like any other day I get too do what I want, I just wish I knew how and worst, right now, I only wanna feel the cunt of me.
( Mahammed held his dick like a true pervert, preciously and quite interestingly he rubbed it and there I was trapped, whimpering like a little girl, it hurts, it hurts…I will make him pay me for the next time.)
Happy Birthday to you, also, myDarling.
miss fanny peepot.
Old or whateva, you be stuck with a cl aim
unless you be man enough to break it
and you ain’t got no dick
oh, hush up old Man and you ain’t got no pussy either, so there!
maybe a bigger or newer candle as I did not feel one wee little sting, I decided too bore myself, by sticking my mascara into the wax while trying to put out the little paper fire,
I know, I will never make any sense to no one but myself.
just say I got the fucking pox.
Talk about holes in my thong..